Boys and shoes….

Manolo

Can you not just tell this is going to be a good story already? Well this is actually the end of the story but really it’s Friday and what better way to kickoff the weekend than a bit of eye candy.

So this story actually begins yesterday morning when my husband woke up in a really good mood. I swear that I had nothing to do with it because I went to bed with my day 3 Migraine. No girls, the real migraine…. You know when you can barely open your eyeballs? Anyway, with a migraine like that I could not dream of putting my hair up in my customary going to bed ponytail. So I woke up with this really interesting case of bed hair that looked like I was responsible for the smile on my husbands face, but truly that was not the case. Anyway, because I had a rotten day before there were a few pair of shoes and the boxes next to my side of the bed which is uncommon as they go from the trunk to the closet but like I said I wasn’t feeling well.  Now what does this have to do with the picture above? Be patient, I am getting there and there is another picture you need to see.

I am putting my youngest in my husband’s car for the customary drop off to school when he says…. (When he is in a good mood, he loves to tease me)…. “I like your hair. Did you comb it with one of those new pair of shoes you bought? Are they dual action shoes? Wear them and style your hair with them?”

It. Is. On! I give him a sly grin and say, “That’s fine, Bud Kline. Go enjoy your day.”

Now I am not really bothered but I like to torment him right back, so I ignore his attempts to get my attention and I go back in the house to get ready for a luncheon to raise money for the Center for Family Services.

He sends this God awful picture from Bing or Google or hell… I don’t know where he got it but here he goes…..
Funny? I think not!

So off I go to the luncheon and who do I see? That’s right Manolo boy and his buddy who wasn’t quite as delicious but only by a hair. So I snicker and ask if I may take his picture as posted above. He says, “Certainly” with this accent and I swear all the women in a 10 foot radius stop dead in their tracks and are telepathically delivering to this poor man the most salacious thoughts, except for me because I am happily married to a ball buster and I feel like a creeper just asking to take his picture. Well, I try to snap it but it is backlit and blurry and I am so embarrassed I just take what I can get…. And send it off with no text to my husband.

“Ting” goes my phone with his incoming reply. “Kick him in his balls!”

Now I wouldn’t be the woman we know I am if I let the opportunity pass me by for retribution of the taunt from earlier that morning. So I text him back….

“I have to go. Eduardo is going to “comb” my hair.”

And he wouldn’t be the man that we know he is without the last word. “Good one.”

Now I got the last picture in but let’s cut to the chase. I own a few pair of Manolos and they are hands down the MOST UNCOMFORTABLE shoes in my closet but I am willing to overlook this and I purchase raffle tickets for 6 more pair of hell just because Manolo boy suggests it. This was a well-developed plan by a gay man, I know it. This was a piece of man candy, ridiculously handsome and well-built carrying a tray of fabulous shoes while the champagne was flowing… All that was missing was chocolate…. So the women were feeling good and…. Well I am going to say it. I almost felt a bit badly for those boys. They were man meat and if the tables were turned, well it wouldn’t be pretty. I turn from taking his picture and I swear a woman who could be my grandmother says loudly for Eduardo/Francesco to hear, “Keep the shoes. I will take him!” And she is deadly serious. She wants….To. Put. The. Naughty. On. Him. She doesn’t care if she throws a hip out in the process, she is like Eartha Kitt in Boomerang. And her girlfriend in the sensible shoes who hit 70 eons ago, wants a piece too. I turn back to him and he is actually visibly frightened. I hope they snuck him out from the kitchen, poor thing….. With the magnificent….shoes…. I was going to say shoes….. Get your mind out of the gutter! And if you think my husband was upset, he wasn’t because I woke up this morning with bad hair and he had a smile on his face again and everyone was a winner.

I was nearly killed by the tooth fairy!

Of course, there is a bit of a back story…. as there often is…. especially when it concerns me. I have a bit of a shoe thing and I don’t want to use the word “fetish” because quite frankly it brings up visions of really icky things like old, paunchy balding men in latex underwear licking the bottom of a dominatrix’s shoe. Don’t judge, I saw it on an episode of CSI once and it stuck with me. Trust me it would stick with you too! Now I should mention that whatever one does is fine as long as it’s behind closed doors and the only parties are consenting adults. But really now, back to the shoes. I love stilettos, at least 4 inch heel height but I have some 6 inch with platform. Those are not for work, they are for fun. I know what you are thinking but it’s not true, Saks doesn’t sell stripper shoes! 

So last week, we had a wedding on the calendar. Our dear friends daughter was marrying her high school sweetheart and we knew it would be a fun wedding. So I ordered the dress and it was a fun but a bit edgy design. Now the first thing that comes to mind is how am I going to put this outfit together. Do I go refined or do I play up the edgy? I decided to play up the edgy. Big statement jewelry but what to do about the shoe? I was puzzled as I stood in my closet. There were many choices that would work but where was “the” shoe?  Shit, I don’t own it. Off to the mall… an hour later I am leaving the shoe salon with a rapid fire purchase of a 6 inch platform, mixed media, strappy pewter stiletto. Shoes? Check!

After pulling the rest of my act together, I went into the closet to shimmy into my dress, throw on my accessories, put on my shoes and grab my clutch and that’s when it started to go sideways…. you know, downhill? In the shitter? I couldn’t find my thick pewter hammered cuff with the hanging chain fringe…. I searched furiously through the drawers of my jewelry chest. No cuff…. Through both drawers of bangles… no cuff. Where the hell is it? My husband is now giving me the not so subtle, “Let’s go!!!” that he had been giving me 10 minutes ago with his own edgy attitude. I sigh in frustration and yank another drawer open. It turns into a spring loaded bomb of bangles of every design, thickness and material causing me to flinch and take cover from the shrapnel and impending bloodshed from the explosion. My closet is officially a Federal Disaster Area! Call FEMA! Stat!

“Stephanie Kline!!!! Let’s go!!!!” I am always in big trouble when he uses my last name, or his last name, however you look at it he is 3 seconds from thermonuclear… which to be honest isn’t all that bad. He is very indulgent with me and basically thermonuclear equals a baleful stare and a few curt words and then he is holding my hand being the life of the party. But why push the issue?

I crouch down and throw a few handfuls of ornamentation back in the drawer that is now resting on the floor. That will have to do. I grab my clutch and in a burst of power jump out of my closet…. and land a bit funny on my right foot. Okkkkk, I can do just about anything in heels and I rarely take a misstep but it can happen. Second time I step with my right foot, same thing.

“Stephanie KLINE!!!!” …..Oh for fuck’s sake, I am coming!!! I think to myself….out loud. So back to power walking and my next step with my right foot on the wood floors in my bedroom ends spectacularly….. Something causes my right foot to shoot out from beneath me, causing me to do a split in my Halston dress and desperately throw my arms over the sleigh at the footboard portion of the bed to keep me from fracturing my vagina. Anyone who contends that you cannot, in fact, fracture your vagina is welcome to come to my home and we can reenact the scene and when you do a split and your girlie parts hit the floor at Mach 6, you will be certain that not only have you fractured your vagina, but you have torn your cervix and bruised your spleen as well. As I slink to the floor with a smarting spot on my rib cage from the bed, thoughts race through my head… Have I made it this far in life without a corn on a toe or hammertoe on my foot just to lose the ability to wear heels as I am walking out the door for a wedding? I could walk in these just fine 2 hours ago when I bought them. I am stumped and dumbfounded. As I look at the offending foot/shoe, I see something…..

What is that??? Have I stepped on something??? It’s white and it’s bumpy and the size of a pea. I stare and as I reach out to touch it, I think it looks just like a tooth stuck to the bottom of my shoe…. A molar….. It’s hard, its white, and it’s shiny and….I KNOW WHAT THIS IS…. it’s a freaking 6 yr old molar that came from my son’s mouth and it is embedded in the bottom of my shoe. I have to pull his tooth for the second time and this time I am getting off without giving him $10 but I am definitely chipping my nail in the process. This is exactly what I get for saving their teeth in my jewelry chest. Back in the closet, baby teeth from my 2 oldest litter the floor like an anthropology exhibit from every single age in history. I can’t help but save them. I made those teeth all by myself. YES, all by myself! My husband gave me this tiny microscopic ingredient and I alone turned out a fully formed baby. Look at it this way, he brings home a pinch of salt and I make a 7 course French dinner, who actually made dinner? You’re damn right! ME! Anyway, I digress. Never once when I saved those beautiful pearls that I stole from beneath their pillows as they slept soundly did I ever imagine that it could backfire in such a fashion….

“STEPHANIE KLINE!!!!”

I stand up. Pull my dress down from around my waist, grab my clutch and put on my party smile as I leave my bedroom and make my way down the stairs.

“What were you doing up there?” He is definitely slightly annoyed.

“I was nearly killed by the tooth fairy!” And if you are married to me, you just look at me for a beat and slowly turn your head. He doesn’t want to know…. Really, it’s better this way.

Manscaping

After much talk about the women and the newest trends towards Bushy Gardens, I have been asked to speak of men and their grooming habits. Not wanting to appear or be accused of being sexist, I agree that something should be said but what really do I know about the current trends of men and their manscaping. I have dated my husband for 20 years and even our last breakup was 15 years ago; I am grossly under-informed. Thankfully I have Google and a husband who has never read anything I have posted so I accept the challenge.

I started to think about men. They have an awful lot of hairy areas, there are so many possibilities. But let’s just talk about the “hair down there” for now. Personally I like my man to be trimmed but not looking like he supplements his income dancing at bachelorette parties on the weekends…. You know the type, bizarrely hairless on sight but God forbid if you make contact as you will certainly have your flesh torn from your body by stubble. Now when trimming, I personally would be violently opposed to it being trimmed into any shape a preschooler could identify, for example a triangle, trapezoid or dare I say it…. Heart! That’s just downright creepy. Just an overall trim. After all, the shorter the lawn, the taller the tree!

Maybe you are not particularly hairy. How then do you determine if you need a trim? Well that’s easy. Make your way to the bathroom. Remove your clothing. Look down. Does it look like 2 squirrel tails are hanging down on either side of your business? If yes, then you definitely need to trim. No one wants to worry if they will need a rabies series after a night of passion. If you are squirrel-less, does that make you trim exempt? Not yet, my friend. Not yet. If it is difficult to find your business when it is taking a little siesta, then you should trim. Definitely trim.

So when does it become too much of a good thing? Well I guess it all depends on your personal taste. I think a man should look like a man and a naked pubic mound does nothing but remind me of a hood of an old Buick. But some women might like their significant others bare. Good for them. I have 2 words for you… Beard burn. Keep the fire extinguisher handy.

Which leads us to Betty Beauty’s new pube dye. Apparently P. Diddy received a kit and gave them a very public thank you as show on page 6. But you have to consider the guy changes his name every 6 months so what has he got to lose, nothing but the grey I suppose.

I had no expert to ask, because I still have not yet found the gay male friend of my dreams*, so I called my grandmother and asked her to help me out with this. She said that men should not trim down there…. But she has always had a special place in her heart for squirrels. She did say however that there “was too many damn things on the market for a man to ever have a hairy back!” I told her we were most concerned about the below the belt region, but she wasn’t finished. She wanted to make sure that I said that “Hairy nostrils and ear holes are disgusting! Cripe!”

So from time to time you will hear me talk about my grandmother and you should know that she is the best! Hands down. She is this tiny Portuguese woman with a fiery temper and she can bake her ass off. Just picture Magda from There is Something About Mary with Ben Stiller and Cameron Diaz plus maybe 10 years… With the tan, cigarettes and bangles.

*My best friend “Carol” (would you want your friend to use your name on a blog like this?) and I have been searching for a fabulous gay friend for years to no avail, it’s most disheartening. If you know of someone with fabulous style, wicked sense of humor, and serious rhythm and taste in music, please send him our way. He probably doesn’t even know how much he has missed us…..

What they didn’t tell you about Cinderella

Before I get started, yesterday 3 separate friends asked me to write about 3 very separate topics. I promise to accommodate all of your wishes but I cannot do it today, because I am ill equipped. That is not to say that I can’t find anything to say about those topics because I can. It’s just that I can’t access that part of my brain today. I was up until almost midnight last night and to make matters worse something is wrong with WordPress this morning because it is auto-correcting the most basic words with words that I am certain are not English or even Olde-English at that. It’s like playing with a high-tech Ouija board and I am the word that means “beyond frustrated” (that too is locked away). Instead today we are going to talk about Cinderella and the part of the fairy tale Disney left out. If you need to brush up on the story, Cinderella is the family scullery maid lucky enough to procure a fairy godmother who uses a bit of magic to get her ready for the ball where she meets Prince Charming, loses her glass slipper which he then uses to track her down and they live happily ever after.

Last night my husband and I attended The American Cancer Society’s Celestial Gala which was chaired by friends of ours and a cause very dear to my heart. Even more fun was the fact that we were sitting at their table with a wonderful survivor and her husband, brother-in-law of the chairs husband, the manager for Jimmy Choo (who is now my new best friend as we bonded over a dance to a cover of Crazy in Love by Beyonce) and a dear friend of mine who I was room moms with years ago and her husband. Now let’s just touch on the fact that my room mom and I looked a lot alike physically in that at the time we both had naturally nearly black hair, on the small side (although you can never get me out of heels long enough to realize how short I am) , and we are both very busty. We were known as the Boobsy Bobsy Bookends”. We also have been gifted with the same brutal self-effacing sense of humor. So even though I am a blonde now, I still consider her my bookend. No topic is off-limits and you add a glass of wine and well… The evening was well enjoyed. So now you have the background lets cut to the chase.

I am old. I hit the big 40 this past summer and the only people who think 40 isn’t old are the people who are 40 or older. Ask any 21-year-old and they will confirm what I am saying. It’s clinical. Trust me that’s what they are talking about when they refer to “Advanced Maternal Age”. There are perks, however, to being 40. For instance, I don’t care one tiny bit what anyone thinks about me dancing to a Beyonce song like I think I am in the video in front of 250 people and it’s not because I think I am special because that’s not it. I have seen me naked and I am  not impressed!

There was no fairy Godmother who showed up to get me ready for the ball unless you count Dr. Rankin who makes sure that I cannot scowl, fills in the lines and sends me on my way, Ellie who applies mink hairs lash by lash to my eyelashes until I flinch when I wake up thinking I am being attacked by a flock of something akin to a Steven King movie, Erika who teases, pins and curls my hair until it looks tamed but not contrived and can withstand a Category 5 hurricane, Victor who polishes my toes and applies gel to my nails and massages my feet in such a way that I felt the need to go home and confess to my husband and finally Jackie who pins, takes in and takes out every garment I own as needed depending on whether I can lay the Girl Scout Cookies or I have a touch of the stomach flu. If you find yourself singing along with Kanye right now, “I ask cuz I’m that sure, do anyone make real shit anymore?” Ummm no Kanye, they do not. I feel no compunction about it because I am old and it takes a village. I own it and again I am not afraid of your judgement.

Now Cinderella showed up to the ball and danced with the prince and he loved her very much on site. I, too, danced with my prince but he began the evening during the cocktail reception occasionally stepping on the train of my gown to which I would say quietly, “Excuse me, honey. Please mind the train.” Whenever he would stand on it I would hear the glass beads being crushed and it sounds like the breaking of a glass in a Jewish wedding.
This went on all night as my pleas for the sake of my gown became more desperate. “Honey, please watch my dress.” “Honey, PLEASE watch your feet.” “Can you PLEASE NOT STEP ON MY GOWN?” “Get. Off. My. Fucking. Dress!!!” And then finally when it was literally the last crunch for me… I body checked him. Yes, just like in hockey. He stared at me with a shocked expression and so that he knew I harbored no malice, I gave him a 1000 watt smile. Disney either edited that part out or the Prince played it smooth that night.

When Cinderella ran from the ballroom as the clock chimed midnight, she lost her shoe. I went all night in 6in Jimmy Choos. I can use the restroom without toppling over, touching the potty or getting my dress wet, you can be damned sure I won’t be losing a shoe while making my way to the car. In fact if you find a shoe of mine, call the authorities as I have certainly been a victim of foul play… Really and there will probably still be a foot in it because I am very serious about my footwear. I’m also sure that they did not mention the contusions on the bottom of your feet from popping and locking to Beyonce either. Suck it up, Cindy! It’s all part of the party!

So given the fact that our poor Cinderella hasn’t a clue once dropped by the good fairy, I thought I would help her out with a few more facts.

1. Panty lines…. They are bad. They come in all forms so if your dress is form-fitting you should check for them all. The waist- if it looks like you have a seam around your middle or a very big elastic band around your waist, this is a panty line. Hip- if there is a visible dent in your hip where your panty lives, this is a panty line. If there is a large seam running down the front of your panty that is visible, this is a panty line. If you have diagonal, horizontal or vertical lines on your cheeks, this is a panty line. If you have a ring around your thigh, this is a panty line. You have 2 options, wear Spanx or go commando. If you can’t do either choose another dress Cindy, you will be happier for it.

2. Don’t eat anything during the cocktail hour unless you are in the company of a good friend. Nothing is worse than that asparagus between your front teeth like a strobe light that polite company who is making their way around the room saying their hellos will certainly not tell you about but will stare like it’s a train wreck in the making. Husbands are useless in this regard. Don’t depend on them for teeth check because even if they spot it, they are not covert enough to point it out without alerting a 6ft radius.

3. Check yourself when you leave the restroom. Hems hanging where they should be? Nothing tucked into your panty if you wore them? no lingerie showing? no toilet paper stuck to you shoe? Nothing in your teeth, hair or hanging from your chin? Perfect, get back out there! They are playing Bruno Mars and you know what that means.. “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah”

4. Finally, you are old Cinderella. Getting to bed at midnight is going to wipe you out tomorrow. It doesn’t matter that you had one glass of wine with dinner. You are toast tomorrow. You will not be able to think straight and you could just about cry because you have a friends 50th birthday party in just 2 hours and that damn fairy godmother stood you up again!

I need a stunt double, make it quick and as long as we are at it, make her 30 so everyone thinks I look good for my age!

The return of the bush?

This is definitely going to be one of those posts that is a little sensitive. In fact this is one of those posts that is covered by ground rules number seven. You may want to skip this one if you’re feeling a little skittish.

I had way too much caffeine last night. In fact it’s starting to get a little old the way that I can’t seem to process caffeine after 2 PM. I mean how pathetic is that? So I decided that I should read for a while but as I was trying to read I realized I was far too into my book and at this rate it would not put me to sleep so I opted instead to read some random articles online. I found a rather interesting one and immediately thought I would get my husband’s input. So as he slept soundly and snoring lightly, I gave him a little shake and said “Honey, guess what’s coming back into style.”

“Hmmmmph” was his reply.
“You have to guess and I’ll give you a hint. It has to do with women.”
He did not really want play this game at 12:30 AM so I cut him a little slack after his first guess was terribly off-track.
“The answer is Bush. Bushes are coming back in style it says.”

Now as I told you my first blog piece it takes a very special man to be married to someone like me. He knew right away that I wasn’t talking about landscaping. Well at least not landscaping in the traditional sense.

“It says here that Gwyneth Paltrow is rocking a 70’s bush and more and more women are forgoing the Brazilian and going au naturale.”

He did give me his input but I am not going to share as I don’t want to offend anyone but suffice it to say he wasn’t a fan.

The article was interesting and brought up several good arguments. Women are tiring of the constant pain or suffering associated with the upkeep. I have had laser several times and the last time…. Well lets just say there was a loud zap, a distinct smell, an incredible amount of pain followed by my tech saying, “Ummm, you are probably ummm…. Going to ummmm… Want to put some ummmm Neosporin on that.” “Neosporin, huh Eric? I think a skin graft is more appropriate.” That event gave a whole new meaning to skirt steak for me. I have been bruised by waxing and I swear I have nicked my femoral artery shaving. However, not once have I ever thought “screw it, I am going for a Bruno Mars wig look”. I decided that I needed more information…..

So today I had my annual well woman visit. Don’t know what that is? Well it starts by getting your boobies squeezed in a machine until they are about 1 psi from popping and then getting naked while a virtual stranger gets to third base without ever buying you lunch, dinner or calling afterwards. Anyway, who would know better about the current grooming habits of women nowadays than the people who make it a living to know about vaginas?

So I say as I get the standard “Relax and let your legs…” (Yeah you know the rest….)…. “I read an interesting article last night”. Now this man has been my gynecologist for 20 years. He knows not to expect a titillating diatribe about the latest medical advances not because I cannot keep up but simply because at this juncture I am on a need to know basis and I need to know this. So I ask him and his nurse if they are seeing a growing trend…. Pun intended… He says no, his nurse says yes. They both have their own perspective which I won’t share but they are definitely not a fan of spinach… You know, spiders?.. Basically do what you like but make sure what’s left of it is contained. Think Boy short bathing suit bottoms and if that doesn’t work for you, perhaps a wet suit. We all agreed that Americans typically are more into the less is more boat than our European friends. They also point out the fact that it’s not an option for those who have lasered themselves beyond a blade of grass in the field…. Which got me thinking?

What if these folks who have permanently killed off the landscape have regrets? Immediately I thought of a resolution! I would partner with Stark carpeting to produce pubic toupees. We could have short pile, long pile, Berber, looped, shag, textured, patterned and even AstroTurf for our athletic friends. However, it turns out that Hollywood has had these for years and they are called Merkins. That was that! So as I left the parking lot of my doctor’s office, I realized that I had one last thing to do…

That is, ask a wise old sage, a seasoned veteran! So I called my grandmother. Now admittedly she may not be the best person to ask as she thought there was part of her Netherregion called a “Plethorus”… Which may be some type of extinct girl dinosaur, I don’t know… But what she meant rhymes with Plethorus so it’s all good. I won’t tell you her preference because I don’t want to offend anyone but she was very concerned that I not feel pressured to follow the trend. I was honest with her and said, “I can barely button my jeans now. A bush like that will send me straight out of my closet.” I will pass. But that’s just my decision. It’s your lawn, mow it the way you want!

Please feel free to weigh in with your thoughts.

How not to be a Jackass at Costco

And just because you shop at Sam’s or BJ’s doesn’t mean this doesn’t pertain to you. It does!

Let me start by saying, we are a family of 5 and I am at Costco more often than Publix, our basic grocery store. I buy everything in cycles and fortunately have enough room to store 3 large bottles of ketchup, 6 cases of water, 3lbs of cheese… You get the picture. I have over-committed myself to the teeth and every minute is precious. I know my Costco stuff. I know everyone by name and I get a little frightened when they hire someone new. I have this down to a science as do many of my friends, but there are those who do not. So this is to help those people and thereby help us. So let’s get started!

First and foremost, when coming into the parking lot, pick a spot and commit to it. Don’t impose on your neighbors spot and for God’s sake pull all the way in.

Choose your cart and get in line waiting for the doors to open ONLY if you are CERTAIN beyond any reasonable doubt that your level of membership allows you to shop at that time. There is nothing worse than a walrus trying to make its way against the salmon stream going in because they thought they could sneak in during the black card special time slot.

If you have made it inside the door, do not stop dead to look for your list, reading glasses, coupons or lost husband. Pull off to the side and let the traffic through.

Once inside have your flow plan in mind. If you haven’t shopped here recently, that’s completely ok. We have a plan for you and your own lane. Keep reading, it will all come together for you! 😉

Do not leave your cart in the middle of an aisle, ever! Not even if they scream fire, if your small child has scaled the floor model swing set or your husband is making his way to the sample cart! Move your cart completely to the right side of the aisle. In fact this is where you should be if you are new or fresh off a long lay-off…. Which is racing vernacular for not running at the track. Right side of the aisle, got it?

Now if you are waiting anxiously for the pierogis to heat up at the sample cart, be sure to leave your cart out-of-the-way down the aisle a bit on the right side and take your bag. Do not crowd the poor girl putting little slivers of food in paper cups with your big carts. You are blocking traffic! That is not the heat from the hot plate you feel, it’s me boring 2 holes through the back of your head because you aren’t responding to my gentle requests to please excuse me and let me pass.

When you find yourself zipping from the back of the warehouse to the checkout area, you may use the middle of the aisle. If you use the extreme right or left sides you will undoubtedly hit some poor person trying to exit their aisle who cannot possibly see you as the end caps are stacked 6 feet high and they are behind their carts. You may also use the middle of the aisle if you are zipping through and know exactly where you are going and what you need. How do you know if you are in that group? It’s easy! You can find 17 things on your list, spend $300 and be out of the store in 20 minutes. Like leaving the parking lot in 20 mins!

If you open a carton of eggs and there is a broken one, close the carton completely and securely so that the next person doesn’t end up with 8 broken eggs all over their $500 Manolo Blahniks. If I find out it was you, it is sooooo on and I am bringing the other 16 that didn’t break. And for God’s sake close the freaking refrigerator door! What is this, a frat house?

I swear by everything holy that if you decide to walk 3 carriages wide in some crazed attempt to make me try to pick up my carriage and move it sideways to avoid a head on collision, we are never going to be friends. In fact I will use the fact that I am so familiar with my store that I can multitask, to plan my revenge. You are not Danny Zuko, this is not Thunder Road. Fall back! Before it gets ugly.

If you don’t know how to use the self-checkout, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT TRYING IT WHEN IT’S BUSY! Those registers aren’t toys. If I have to leave my cart 3 spots back to explain to you what it means to “scan your membership card”, it’s not going to be an example of my highest and best self. And friends if you go the route of the conventional cashier occupied checkout, have your card and credit card out and on top of your first item. You should not be using a check or cash in this day and age and if you need to make a return and trust me they take everything back, you will want to have used a credit card.

Remember that bit a while back when we were talking about the aisles and where to leave your cart… Guess what? It applies here too! If you need special services to get an item for you that you have paid for, don’t leave your cart in the middle of the exit or yourself in the middle of the exit. Want a churro or a hot dog? Great! Don’t you dare leave your cart out while you get it!

So now it’s time to leave the store and pack up your purchases, if indeed you actually purchased something and didn’t sample everything in the store and call it lunch. This is very important now, so pay attention. Move down to the edge of the sidewalk and think about your exit plan. Where did you park? Where are your keys? Is there anything on your cart that is going to go ass over teacup before you get to the car? Once you have your exit plan firmly in place LOOK BOTH WAYS for crying out loud. The people who leave their cart in the middle of the aisles in the store are the same people looking for a parking spot and they are more than content to run your behind over. Is it all clear? Good then what are you waiting for? No lolly gagging, move expeditiously to your vehicle. Load up quickly with your cart tucked all the way to your vehicle…. Don’t leave it in the aisle… Notice a pattern yet?

Now this is where it gets tricky because the parking lot is a shit show, all day, every day. Don’t back up without looking behind you and continue to watch behind you. And if you are waiting to pass and someone is backing up, wait and let them move out of the way because if I have to be late because I have to render first aid to your impatient ass or stand around to wait to give a witness statement because you decided to play chicken with an 80 yr old driving a 17ft Crown Victoria, I am going to petition Costco to revoke your membership when you get out of recovery.

If you can abide by these rules, we will get along famously. If not please stay out of my Costco. Better yet I will pay for your membership to BJ’s. Unless of course the executives at Costco would like to give me my own shopping hours and then disregard the above and 8:30am works perfect for me.

First things first…

I am still not quite sure that this is a great idea. However, there is something to be said about the universe giving you a push…. So here it is…. My foray. This has disaster written all over it. In fact, I have purposely neglected to fill in much of my personal information as insurance against certain fall out. But here are my ground rules….

1. If you are offended by swearing, you are in the wrong spot. Please close this screen and don’t come back. I don’t use every swear word but I do swear… I have my favorites of course and some that are my go to curses in everyday situation. There are a few that were not popular with me but my best friend uses them constantly so now they are part of my repertoire. She added Jackass and Douche. I don’t ever say the “C” word or “MF’er”. My children who teenagers are not allowed to even say “crap” or “bitch” let alone some of the words I love. I am a curse word hypocrite. I own it and I am not afraid of your judgement.

2. If you are devoutly religious with no tolerance for any way other than your own, you are in the wrong spot. We won’t be friends. I think world religion is beautiful and there are parts of each that I admire so greatly that I would like to make a Baskin Robbins religion, like 31 flavors. I was born and raised Roman Catholic, I have a favorite Buddha bracelet, a Ganesha statue, a mezuzah at my front door, and a dream catcher in one of my girls’ bedrooms. I will leave it at that. Tolerance is the key word here folks.

3. I have a job. I sell high-end real estate. I don’t ever speak about my clients or work on Facebook and I won’t do it here either. I am loyal and I value their privacy. If they want to tell you how wonderful I am, them that is their business. They can leave anonymous comments on the bottom, if this thing even allows for it… Which come to think of it, I am not even sure that I want that….ever.

4. I am extremely active at my children’s school and being the loyal person that I am there will never be bashing of the school, administration or faculty. If you post it, I will remove it. I love them all, I don’t care if you don’t, but if I can ever help you solve a problem you can email me privately and I will do everything in my power to help you.

5. No, I have never taken or tried a recreational drug, I rarely drink and I don’t smoke. I swear and shop my way out of most of my funky blue moods. It has worked for 40 yrs, I may take up a martini or 2 every 6 months in my future but short of that whatever I write comes from my everyday impaired brain.

6. Yes, it takes a special man to be married to me. I get that. Trust me, it ain’t all bad for him!

7. I come from a very, very long line of women who find inappropriate subjects hilarious. There is no helping us, it is genetically ingrained. We had to take my then 86 yr old great-grandmother aside and remove from her possession a checkbook that had a pop-up penis in it as she was accosting young men at gas stations and restaurants. If you are offended by talk of vaginas, penises, breasts or sex, you should probably forget that you even heard of this blog. You will be happier for it.

8. I have learned that a bit of humor can make nearly anything at least a bit better. I have faced what is to date the most impossibly sad part of my life. I lost my dearest family member and first friend to cancer last year. I spent weeks sleeping in her hospital room living out of a suitcase I kept behind her chair. We laughed at everything and the one constant was the parade of nurses saying the same thing… “This is my favorite room. There is so much love in this room, so much joy. You walk in and you just feel the lightness.” They remarked how they wished that their other patients could feel this. We were just doing our thing, being silly girls, but we could find a bit of joy even when the darkness was closing in. So this is for you Jodi, when we were making plans for what we would do after you got out of the hospital this time and I said I would write a book and you said, “Why haven’t you?” This is for you because I get the chance to have my tomorrow when you did not. I promise to give it my all and make it as crazy as we all were together.